Kabuki

by Zoë Kincaid

Danjuro was responsible for a new mode of acting that astonished and delighted Yedo people,—the aragoto, or rough style. The Doll-theatre was the source of his inspiration. There were minstrels who recited the military exploits of Kimpira, a Hercules who slew demons and beasts. The minstrel, desiring to appeal to the fighting spirit of the Yedo people, beat his rhythms with a long iron rod, and sometimes wielded this weapon so wonderfully that he broke off the heads of the performing dolls or smashed the scenery in his exploitation of valour.

The people had begun to grow tired of plays dealing with the effeminate and luxurious life of the gay quarters; they wearied of sentimentality, and welcomed performances that were more manly and possessed a militaristic appeal. Danjuro, the first, seized the opportunity to please the citizens of Yedo, originated the exaggerated artificial style now inseparably linked with the Danjuro line, their famous eighteen plays, or Juhachiban, being treasures of Kabuki that are woven out of the pure fabric of fancy, and so unreal that those steeped in realism can find but little to admire in them. Yet they represent the talent of this long actor line; they have been altered, improved, added to in the way of treatment, costume, and acting by successive members of the family, unadulterated theatre material, full of taste and style, but as yet unknown to the unseeing eyes of the West.

Like Tojuro, the first Danjuro was not only an actor, but also of a literary turn of mind, and took an active part in the composition of his plays.

As he wished for a son to succeed him he repaired to Narita, not far from modern Tokyo, where stood then, as to-day, the famous Buddhist temple sacred to Fudo, the God of Fire. Here he worshipped, praying to Fudo for a son. The petition was granted, for a son was born who inherited his father’s characteristics to a remarkable degree. Danjuro had a play written concerning Fudo, by way of returning thanks, and selected a business name by which his successors are always known—Naritaya, after the temple in the village of Narita. Horikoshi remained the family name, that of his samurai ancestors; Naritaya was the name given off the stage by his fellow-actors and familiar friends and tradespeople; while Ichikawa Danjuro was his stage name. He also possessed a nom de plume with which he signed his short verse, for he was a poet in addition to his other qualifications.

Descriptions of Danjuro say that he was strong, his arms brawny, his shoulders broad, and that he stood erect. Warrior rôles were his specialty, and when imitating heroic deeds of the Doll-theatre he played with such a display of force, and his gestures were so remarkable, that when he trod the stage the reverberations were so violent that the stock-in-trade of such porcelain shops as happened to be in close proximity to the theatre were threatened with destruction! However, Danjuro could, when occasion demanded, use naturalistic methods, for the critics of his day praise him when he acted the rôle of a blind shampooer, and mention his gestures as being “so natural”!

In an old book there is a description of his stage methods. He was asked to attend a social function in the mansion of a certain nobleman, and requested to give some aragoto piece. He took down the upper part of his kimono and performed as Kagekiyo—the hero of several Nō dramas—and his actions were so spirited that he broke all the shoji, or white paper screens. The guests were anxious to know what the host would think of the entertainer’s destructive methods, but, contrary to their expectations, the daimyo was pleased and presented him with a costly gift. Danjuro is said to have made the comment after his strenuous acting that if an actor was afraid in the presence of a daimyo he could not play aragoto.

The contrast between the styles of Tojuro and Danjuro was very great, but both truly reflected the tastes of their audiences. The three theatre towns had then, as they have at present, special characteristics.

Kyoto was quiet and easygoing; Yedo military and intense, the centre for the samurai from the provinces who continually came and went. The inhabitants of Osaka and Kyoto, who were mild and gentle in disposition, went wild over Tojuro’s artistic acting, taking pleasure in the effeminate, sentimental heroes and heroines of the gay quarters, and they rather looked with disdain upon the exaggerated, artificial, and altogether extraordinary acting of Danjuro.

Danjuro was bold, eccentric, rough, and heroic; Tojuro elegant, sensuous, and luxurious, reflecting the spirit of the Kyoto and Osaka people, who were pleased to see his plays of everyday life, and faithful depiction of human nature. Tojuro was eloquent, and sometimes his speeches were so long as to tire his audience; Danjuro was so quick-spoken that sometimes he could not be understood. The theatre materials out of which Danjuro and Tojuro cut their patterns—the real and unreal—continued to coexist after the Genroku period. The one did not swallow up the other; but both maintained their place and use,—sometimes mixed, with strange results, sometimes found without adulteration.

Perhaps the most famous of Danjuro’s plays is Kanjincho, a popularised version of Ataka, a Nō drama. “Kanjincho” means a Buddhist scroll upon which are written the names of subscribers to a fund to restore or rebuild a temple. Without asking leave, Danjuro appropriated this Nō play. A member of the house of Kineya, the musicians of Kabuki, suiting the music to the plot, there was evolved the most perfect music-posture play of the Japanese theatre. Danjuro, the first, played it in 1702. The theatre was crowded, and the piece continued for 150 days. It was called Oshiai Junidan, meaning to crowd or push together. And after the lapse of more than 200 years this Kabuki masterpiece still holds audiences in a spell, and never fails to arouse the greatest enthusiasm. It was performed before the Prince of Wales on his visit to Japan in April 1922.